


186,282 mi/s

by WatanabeMaya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Best Friends, Crushes, Drabble, Friendship/Love, M/M, in which oikawa pines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatanabeMaya/pseuds/WatanabeMaya
Summary: Tooru wants Hajime the way he wants the stars: beneath his fingertips, underneath the cheap lamplight, moving towards their apotheosis at the same speed radiant energy bursts and travels to the earth from the moon and back. A force, inexorable.\\IwaOi. Drabble.





	186,282 mi/s

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is really stupid i just wanted an excuse to write about needy!Oikawa and make him pine for once so please forgive my amateur butt i am just humble hq!trash
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Haikyuu!

_The speed of light is 186,282 mi/s (miles per second) or 299,792 kps._

_Light has momentum and can, therefore, apply a force, however, it is unable to come to rest._

_Momentum is defined as the force that keeps an object moving or keeps an event developing after it has started._

*

It should be enough, Tooru thinks.

It should be enough when Hajime takes him by the arm to guide him to the locker room in the after-hours of their school days — a brief tug of limbs and a broad set of shoulders; his grip a steady anchor navigating Tooru's weakened frame to the fleeting blessing of a reprieve, away from the currents of worn-out fatigue and the tides of a post-battle exhaustion.

It should be enough when Hajime claps Tooru's back to commend him with a _good game, captain;_ or, when after having pulled an all-nighter _to_ analyze replays of their opponents, the other rests his palm on his forehead before telling him off for _consequently overworking himself to near death like the idiot that he is_.

It should be enough when Tooru loudly admits that the reason he'd never bothered to wear gloves during the winter was because _I wanted an excuse to hold Iwa-chan's hand!_ before stretching out his palm _,_ and his best friend would grumble in response – cheeks flushing a mad scarlet – but always taking it still, warmly, in the end.

It should be enough, he reminds himself, that Hajime cares for him and stays a loyal friend by his side.

(It isn't.)

It's like a thirst he cannot quench, but when the touch of their fingers zaps Tooru with the distant feeling of something fierce, his heart leaps with a feeling akin to that seconds before a game. His gaze fixates itself on the hands of his ace and his ace alone; his chest a heavy weight aching with desire. His mind is abuzz with a thousand and one thoughts – all that for which the setter craves and yearns for in a way he recalls as nothing less than a victory.

Hajime gives and gives and _gives_ but Tooru has always been a greedy child, and he wonders how much longer this can go on until he has to stop at the realization he'll be taking everything from his best friend's overly generous heart and leaving himself out in the open, a hollowed vessel of life parched dry.

( _Not too long_ , he hopes.)

Tooru likes Hajime – loves all of him, and more. He longs to see the insides of his flesh, to feel the bones of his body and cradle the beating of his heart. Wishes for the boy in ways more than he's ever thought himself capable of having imagined. Pictures clothes off their bodies and goose bumps tracing down their skin, tangled in sheets that smell less of detergent and more so of wandering souls.

He falls in love with him – _slow and steady_ , Tooru remembers – in moments. Learns to love him in the decade they share over their coexisting lifespans. In memories of fingers rough and calloused and warm against his. In dreams of lips soft and chapped and calling out his name. Hands lost in his hair and kisses tasting faintly of home.

Tooru wants Hajime the way he wants the stars: beneath his fingertips, underneath the cheap lamplight, moving towards their apotheosis at the same speed radiant energy bursts and travels to the earth from the moon and back. Like _this_ , he thinks, in the momentum of their youth —

A toss, the curved arch of a ball in a trajectory's parabola;

A spike, the smack of rubber solid against an open palm;

A point, the resonance of impact echoing loudly on the court;

A dream, the future at _Nationals_ now looming over their horizons;

A victory, the promise between partners fulfilled at the end of their third year;

— a force, he describes, nothing short of inexorable.

**Author's Note:**

> reviews would be much appreciated, thank you for reading :)
> 
> also tbh idk much science so i just looked at physics.stockexchange & Cambridge English dictionary lol


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